


She asked me...

by charons_boat



Series: The Expansion Packs: Song Stories Edition [4]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Bards, Fantasy World, Travelling Musicians, Unnamed characters - Freeform, open story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charons_boat/pseuds/charons_boat
Summary: Sometimes growing up was painful. Sometimes your dreams were impossible.
Series: The Expansion Packs: Song Stories Edition [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765816
Kudos: 2





	She asked me...

**Author's Note:**

> i tagged this under top but it's open to interpretation and can be literally anyone. no names are mentioned.

My mother sat in her chair, rocking back and forth slowly. She stared out the window as I stood and waited for her to tell me why she'd called me down from my room. The sun was rising over the horizon, sending golden rays of light spilling into the world. Father wasn't back yet. My heart thudded in my chest, scared of what that meant. Father had never been late. 

"Son," she finally said. I turned away from the sunrise and looked at her. "When I grow old, would you buy me a house of gold?" I felt a small smile making its way onto my face. It was a game we played sometimes. 

"Yes, Mother. I'll do all I can for you," I responded. 

"So when your father goes to stone, you'll take care of me," she inquired. I nodded. 

"Always," I told her. "I'll always be there for you."

"That's good. Because I think your father may have turned to stone this morning." That was the last time we ever saw him. 

When my mother gets sick, I sit by her side. I tell her that one day, I'll go out and become an adventurer. I'll conquer mysterious lands, and I'll make her the queen. I always tell her that in my quest, I'll rename the cities I conquer and name them after her, so no one will ever forget her. Strange creatures will give me cures for all the diseases in the land, and I'll use them to keep her safe. She used to smile when I told her those things. She used to get better. 

"Say you left, Son," she suggested. 

"What?" It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement of utter confusion. 

"Move to another town. Dreams are dead--at least, your dreams regarding me are dead. I won't get better this time, Son. It's time for you to dream another dream," she told me. She kept her gaze fixed on the sunrise. Somewhere out there, we both knew, was the stone man that used to be my father. My mother is sick, but she is insistent. She picked fights with me until I was forced to leave. I took my things and my father's ukulele, and I left my home. 

I found someone in the next town over to teach me how to play the small, stringed instrument. The older man told me I had natural talent. I smiled brightly at the comment and left the town. I played the ukulele as I walked along roads, and something began to happen: people began to give me money when I played it. So I learned songs. I played as I walked and I played in taverns, and along the way I found a friend. He was small, no higher than my hip, but he played a set of drums which he kept strapped to his body. He called himself a "one man band". But now we were two men. The thought always made me smile. 

We traveled together from then. His drums added something more to the songs I played on the ukulele; he called it depth, and I called it fun. Bass drums beats rang out in time with his footsteps, and I strummed happily along with his quick rhythm. Sometimes we stopped in town squares and he jumped about and drummed on his percussion instruments with calloused fingers and solid, carved sticks. My fingers were rough and calloused too, from running them over the strings of my ukulele so often. 

When I suggested the idea of writing a new song, my new friend smiled and agreed. The first song we wrote was called House of Gold. It was dedicated to my mother, who I'd told him about a long time ago. I'd been angry at her for a long time, because she forced me out of the only home I'd ever known, but I knew as I played that song for her, that it had been fate. People clapped and dropped shining coins in the wide-brimmed hat my friend wore, and I smiled at the noon sun.


End file.
